This Week at Angama #378

As the sun stretched over Kimana Sanctuary, guest Laguens set off on a morning game drive with Guide Daniel. It wasn’t long before they spotted Memusi, a lioness we’ve come to know, moving gracefully through the tall elephant grass.

Her name means 'one who brings happiness'. She was the first lioness ever spotted in the Sanctuary — now she has brought even more joy. As she emerged into the open, Male 263 was behind her, following her scent, attempting to determine if she was in heat using the classic Flehmen response.

Then, as if on cue, a cub poked its tiny head out from the grass. Laguens captured the first family photo of all three: Memusi, Male 263, and the cub in one frame. The cub is suspected to be male, though we’ve yet to confirm. It stayed close behind its mother but gradually plucked up the courage to watch the humans from a safer distance. Moments later, Noltulali, Memusi’s sister, a heavily pregnant lioness, arrived on the scene. The sisters, joined by Male 263, strolled to a nearby puddle for a morning drink.

Thanks to the partnership between Big Life Foundation and Kimana Sanctuary’s community owners, the lions here are safe from human conflict, giving prides like Memusi’s the space to grow — and maybe even rewrite the future of lions in this fragile ecosystem. If Noltulali's cubs are female — and we’re hoping they are — they’ll remain in the pride, strengthening the generations to come.

Male cubs, by contrast, will likely wander off at around three years old when they threaten the pride’s reproductive success. For now, though, every day in Kimana feels like a small victory: one more chance for lions to be lions undisturbed. What was once a corridor is now a thriving refuge, not just for lions but for a wide variety of birds and mammals. 

Later in the week, under the shadow of Kilimanjaro, the atmosphere was quiet until movement in the distance broke the stillness. A lone cheetah emerged, locking eyes on a nearby herd of gazelles, their heads down, grazing in what must have felt like safety. But nothing in the wild is ever truly safe. The cheetah lowered its body into the grass, muscles coiled, eyes sharp, and every movement was a study of patience and precision.

It was a textbook stalk moving with practised stealth, edging closer, calculating wind direction, cover, and distance. But just as tension peaked, the wind blew and betrayed the stalk, and the sudden shift carried the scent of a prowling cat straight into the herd. Herbivores may be gentle, but they are built for survival. As soon as a gazelle caught the smell, it warned with a sharp snort and a flick of its tail to alert the rest.

In a heartbeat, the calm was shattered. The gazelles exploded into motion, leaping and zigzagging with urgency. The cheetah frozen mid-step knew the hunt was lost before it even began. Breathing hard, the predator turned away and melted into the tall grass.

Egyptian geese pair for life, forming strong bonds. They mirror each other's movements and sometimes engage in gentle pecking or nuzzling, which can appear affectionate as a kiss. During the breeding season, these devoted pairs can become fiercely territorial, often chasing off bigger animals to protect their nest.

Just before taking off, flamingoes gracefully run across the water, wings outstretched as if gathering the courage for flight. Time slows down briefly as the slender legs skim the surface, the flash of pink wings catching the light, and then lift off.

Back at the lodge, a burst of activity demanded everyone's attention. Two different superb starlings darted across the lawn with remarkable precision. One had managed to snatch an insect, its glossy feathers shimmering in the sun as it proudly held its catch. Another starling had seized a skink near the Photography Studio, fluttering excitedly as it prepared to feast. —Rio Marvin

 We were fortunate to witness one of the savannah’s most elusive and graceful predators in action: the serval cat. We noticed movement ahead as the morning sun cast long shadows over the grasslands. Nearly invisible among the tall, waving grasses, a serval crept forward with silent, fluid steps. Its large, rounded ears twitched, scanning the air—every motion precise and alert. Then, suddenly, it froze.

We watched in awe as it tilted its head slightly, pinpointing the faint rustle of a mouse hidden in the grass. Without a sound, the serval coiled its body and launched into a high, arcing leap. In a heartbeat, it landed directly on its prey. The hunt was swift, efficient, and almost surgical in precision.

A pile of lions? That’s precisely what we found, the Border Pride huddled together, cubs nestled between a few females likely on babysitting duty. Last week, we watched the Pride's males devour a buffalo, regaining strength to defend their growing family.

The lionesses take turns: some stay behind to nurse, while others head out to hunt, either alone or alongside the males, then return to care for the cubs. This rotation allows the others to search for food, recovering from the demands of feeding so many hungry little mouths. The cubs vary in age — a sign the females conceived at different times, though within a close window. 

Waterbucks are incredibly beautiful antelopes. Their soft, thick coats that look like expensive designers. But their babies take it to the next level, with fluffy ears, and their bodies looking like fur balls, they are frankly the definition of adorable.  

You might see these two hanging out together, this secretive bird preferring to skulk in thick vegetation, its deep calls echoing through wetlands and grasslands. The white-browed coucal (Centropus superciliosus) is known as the 'water bottle bird' because its bubbling, gurgling call closely resembles the sound of water pouring from a narrow-necked vessel.

In the Mara region, this distinctive vocalisation reliably coincides with increases in humidity and the onset of the rains, earning the bird the status of a natural harbinger of rainfall. Local guides and indigenous communities alike listen for its call as one of several meteorological indicators that signal the coming of the rainy season. 

The Kichwa Tembo males appeared this week, looking full and healthy, still bearing blood on their faces. As much as big cats hate water and wet grass, they must adapt to the season, as it rains in the afternoons, barely giving time for the landscape to dry. The surplus of predators and big cats can only mean one thing — the Great Migration has begun.

Perched elegantly on one of the picnic trees, we found the Salt Lick female leopard resting. She lay on a branch after feasting on a baby topi, its fairly large body still lying on the ground because it was too heavy to lift into the tree. She stayed with her kill for the whole week, delighting guests every day.

Baboon troops are complex social groups typically consisting of several dozen individuals. These troops are highly structured, with a dominance hierarchy influencing resource access and mating opportunities. The alpha male is at the top of this hierarchy and plays a central role in troop dynamics.

The alpha male protects the group from predators and rival males, maintains order, and secures mating rights with receptive females. Other males often challenge his position, and maintaining dominance requires both physical strength and strategic alliances, particularly with high-ranking females or other males. 

Rivers and streams are running full and fast, bringing plenty of food for fish eagles as large catfish flourish in these swollen waters. We came across an eagle perched on a bank. It had caught a hefty catfish, looking like it had been unable to lift off. Yet even strained by the weight, the eagle’s sharp eyes and powerful talons reminded us of its mastery over the water’s bounty, and the challenge of flying with such a prize in its grip only highlighted its incredible strength. —Japheth Supeyo